


Forget-Me-Not

by SleepySappho



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, BDSM, Brainwashing, F/F, Gaslighting, Hypnotism, Memory Alteration, Moira is a bad person in this one, Top Moira O'Deorain, Unethical Experimentation, seriously she's irredeemable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 23:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17150909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepySappho/pseuds/SleepySappho
Summary: Outraged and sickened by her discovery of Moira's unethical experimentation with Blackwatch, Angela goes to confront her. Moira just wants to help her forget about the whole thing.





	Forget-Me-Not

**Author's Note:**

> First actual fic posted, was originally a chapter from a much larger fic that I scrapped but I liked this enough to save it. I hope you do, too!

Angela flipped through the report again, disbelieving. She read and reread the sheet in front of her, but despite her best efforts the damning sentence failed to resolve into something less stomach-churning. _Human trials demonstrated increased levels of cellular decay compared to previous trials, resulting in acceptable levels of necrosis._ Any human trials in the building, hell in the whole organization, should have been first approved by her personally. And what exactly constituted an “acceptable” level of necrosis? This wasn’t just completely unsanctioned experimentation on human beings, it was practically _butchery_.

But even that wasn’t the worst part of the report. Not that, or the pages of photos of crude metallic implants surrounded by decaying flesh, or even the page detailing the completely false experiment that the subjects were told they would undergo. No, by far the most sickening piece of the whole document was on the very last page, after a brief handwritten note scrawled under a paragraph of experimental conclusions:

 _Gabriel,_ it read, _as dire as these results seem I can assure you that we are proceeding even better than expected-- I anticipate no more than five additional rounds of trials will be necessary before I can deliver the desired results. I am ready to proceed as soon you can procure more subjects._

Angela tried not to read the signature. Didn’t want to see what was on the page in front of her, didn’t want to let herself recognize the familiar and elegant and _unmistakable_ handwriting. She felt nauseous, sick at the thought that this inhumanity had happened under her nose at least twice already, and she had completely ignored it. Angela had known that there were some… minor indiscretions, of course. Had encouraged them, even, when she thought them acceptable trespessases in pursuit of a higher purpose. But this-- _this_ \--

A sob tore from Angela’s throat as her eyes fell once again on that final, damning line:

_M. O’Deorain._

  


Moira was predictably busy when Angela burst into her quarters. It was rare that she wasn’t, with the workload Angela expected of her on top of the Blackwatch projects she was ignorant of. Of course the former was largely manageable with a bit of gentle persuasion. Moira smiled to herself. Not always so gentle, actually.

She sat at her a small aluminum work desk, triple-checking an RNA sequence she planned to use in the next round of testing. She hadn’t heard anything back from Gabriel about her latest report, but felt confident he would approve as many rounds as needed. Reyes might not have understood the value of science for its own sake, as she did, but he certainly valued the effects it could produce. He was quite willing to endorse whatever measures Moira thought necessary to increase his own combat effectiveness, even if some of the more… unusual ones seemed to produce a certain level of casual distaste for Blackwatch’s chief geneticist. They rarely even spoke, and when they did it was always limited to the matter at hand. This suited Moira perfectly. Reyes was quite possibly the most pleasant superior she’d ever had the opportunity to work with, she mused.

 _But then again,_ Moira thought as the base AI announced Ziegler’s presence at her door, _perhaps not_.

Angela didn’t wait for her to answer the door, instead overriding the lock with her personal clearance and storming in. At first, Moira thought this was just another one of their… professional development meetings. Angela was quite flushed and breathless, after all. That thought evaporated as soon as she saw the Blackwatch logo on the folder in Ziegler’s hand. Ah. Of course.

Angela brandished the folder in her direction, seemingly hoping that the presentation of evidence would provoke a confession without the need for her to speak. When no such confession was forthcoming, however, she began trying to find the appropriate words, sputtering furiously and shaking the folder in Moira’s face.

“Moira I cannot _believe_ that you-- after everything I’ve _done_ \-- this is absolutely _monstrous_ \-- and why is _Gabriel_ involved with--”

Moira ignored her words, stepping in close-- too close-- and brushing Angela’s hand and the report away. “My god, Angel, the _state_ of you. Are you feeling well?”

Angela stopped midsentence, suddenly unsure. She had expected-- she wasn’t sure what, exactly. A fiery tirade against the constraints of scientific ethics would certainly have been in character, or a rapid devolution into personal accusations and verbal abuse. Maybe she had even been hoping that Moira would provide a suitable explanation, somehow making sense of this nightmare and leaving Angela feeling foolish but relieved. This, however, this _gentleness_ was completely new ( _not new,_ a hidden piece of her sang, _not new at all_ ) and she wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“This report-- your experiments-- Moira, I…” she trailed off. Moira was staring at her with a concerned expression, as if Angela had stormed in and started claiming that she was Emperor Napoleon and had to attend an important battle at Waterloo. She tried to summon the rage that had propelled her here, but it kept slipping out of her fingers. Moira’s eyes were far too gentle for that. Angela couldn’t keep herself from staring at them, each so distinct and so _perfect_ in their own way. She surprised herself with how familiar the tiniest details were, as if she had spent hours ( _days, weeks, years, eternities_ ) staring into them and had only just forgotten. “I…” she started again, but then Moira’s hand was on her cheek, her long, precise fingers cupping her face coolly and Angela couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop herself from closing her eyes momentarily and sighing at the sensation.

“Perhaps you simply need some rest. You seem a little sleepy, Angel.”

God, she _was._ Absolutely exhausted, really. All of a sudden she felt a deep heaviness in all her limbs, and staggered slightly before Moira’s other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, supporting her. Angela sighed deeply, relaxing into the embrace, the report slipping, forgotten, from her fingers and falling to the floor. Moira was right ( _always right, always so perfectly right_ ), she really was _so_ tired. In fact, it felt like the only thing keeping her eyes open was the desire to keep staring into Moira’s.

“Tired…” Angela repeated slowly, nodding slightly in agreement.

“It’s alright, Angel,” Moira said, caressing Angela’s temple with her thumb, “you happen to be quite precious when you’re feeling _a little sleepy_. I love to watch your eyes flutter like this, so very tired, just aching to close and slip into a warm, wonderful, sleep.”

Angela couldn’t stand it anymore. Her eyes slammed shut and she went limp, letting Moira guide her down onto the bed ( _where I belong where I always belong)_ and drifting away completely. She could just barely feel Moira’s fingers working in her hair, scratching gently at her scalp as she fell down, down, deeper and down until she felt like she was laying at the bottom of the ocean and staring up at the miles of water between her and the surface. Moira was speaking to her now, although she couldn’t quite understand the words. That was alright, she remembered. It was good not to understand when she was like this, when she was Moira’s sleepy little Angel. Good to hear without listening, so that the rest of her could listen and obey.

 _Obey_ . As soon as the thought (if you could call it a _thought_ ) of that word entered her head she remembered all of it. All the times Moira had taken her down her before and shown her how to obey. She remembered countless sessions on this bed, with her head in Moira’s lap just like she was now, but others, too. In her quarters, in a hotel at a conference in Berlin, in the lab, and long ago-- very long ago, now-- after a genetics lecture given by a striking young professor visiting from Trinity College. Her conscious mind had forgotten about that one, even without Moira telling it to, but she knew that a part of her never had. Part of her had been Moira’s ever since.

 _Hers._ The thought would have made Angela smile if moving her facial muscles hadn’t felt like an insurmountable effort just now. Moira could tell, though. Moira could always tell, knew every tiny detail of every single thought that passed through Angela’s mind. Her knowledge of-- and power over-- Angela always astonished her, left her in a state of nearly religious awe. That was perfectly correct, too, she remembered. It was only suitable to worship a woman who sought to usurp the domain of the gods.

And then Moira said something else, something achingly familiar and _wonderful_ , and Angela stopped thinking at all.

  


Moira hadn’t lied before: she _adored_ seeing Angela like this, quiet and deeply relaxed in her lap, her face showing the tiniest hint of a smile that likely only Moira would have been able to recognize. There was something so perfect about Angela like this, once she stripped away all the layers of bull-headed stubbornness and a peculiar fixation with medical ethics, leaving behind the sweet, innocent woman she had first met at a visiting lecture in Bern. “So perfect,” Moira breathed, running her fingers through Angela’s soft, yellow hair. “My perfect Angel.” Angela sighed almost imperceptibly at that, and Moira smiled. She wished it could always be like this, but Angela was simply far too useful where she was to have her to retire and become Moira’s sweet domestic pet full-time. Someday, Moira thought, she would leave behind Overwatch, with all its pretensions of morality and absurd theatrics, and when she did she would make sure to bring her Angel with her. The only thing worth saving when she tore this damnable place to pieces.

The temptation to simply forget the matter at hand and indulge in Angela’s limp, helpless, body was overwhelming, but Moira pulled herself back to the task of the moment. “Angel,” she asked, “How did you find that folder?”

There was a long pause before Angela spoke, her voice thick with exhaustion and bliss. “Gabriel… left it… briefing room…” Moira sighed. She would have to have _words_ with Gabriel about his cavalier approach to operational security. If anyone other than Angela had found it…

“Angel,” she continued, “I have something very important to tell you. Everything in that file was simply a joke. A prank that some intern pulled on me and Gabriel. It is completely inconsequential. Do you understand?” The tiniest flicker of confusion registered on Angela’s face before returning to its peaceful blankness and Angela replied, “Yes, Moira.”

“Grand. And what do we do with inconsequential things, my Angel?”

This time there was no hesitation. “Forget…”

“That’s right, Angel. That’s exactly right.” Moira breathed a small sigh of relief. This was hardly the largest favor she had asked of Angela’s subconscious, but she worried each time that this would be the moment she pushed too hard, too fast, and her control over Angela’s mind withered away. While useful in the hands of a skilled practitioner, which Moira most certainly was, hypnosis had inherent limits that could become… inconvenient if tested.

 _Perhaps there is some way to make such conditioning more… reliable_. Moira thought, before pushing the idea from her mind as her hand slipped under Angela’s blouse to cup her breast.

 _This will do for now,_ she thought.


End file.
